


Tin Can Heaven

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: (06/05/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.03 "Minefield."

The line Malcolm quotes at the end is "The Good-morrow" by that sound chap, John Donne. It's my favourite. Well, one of my favourites! Actually, could you guess John Donne is my very favourite poet?  
  
Beta: Thank to the ever-wonderful PJ, who has helped create a slave to plot bunnies!  


* * *

Make up your mind, Hoshi!

I had five minutes before I absolutely had to go to breakfast. I could eat on the run because Malcolm was breakfasting with the captain. So no nice lingering meal with a bit of torment on the side this morning.

Instead I had time to work out whether to be a slut tonight.

I'd never purposely gone out on a first date thinking that I was not going to bed alone. Not purposely. Accidents do happen, after all! But this time...

I wanted Malcolm. I'd wanted him for weeks. I'd known him for over a year (all right, a year and two weeks but who's counting). But did I have the courage to grab him by the collar and drag him off to my lair of sin?

I'd changed the sheets this morning. And artfully draped my one piece of lingerie (black silk and lace nightgown, wildly uncomfortable) across the pillow. Which was odd because I'd put clean sheets on the bed yesterday.

Then it hit me. Maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something? Hence my dilemma. Hoshi the Temptress becomes Hoshi the Slut...in the nicest possible way, of course.

Well, nice for Malcolm and me anyway!

Courage, Hoshi. Focus on the rewards.

Yes. Maybe I could do this after all.

* * *

It's a good thing I didn't know what type of courage I would really have to call on today. The courage that lets you work furiously to translate an unknown language even though you've got concussion. The courage that makes you keep going even though the ship has an unexploded mine attached to it.

The courage that drives you on because the man you love is in mortal danger.

But I did it. And I was proud. And I was tired.

And I was going to drag Malcolm off to my bedroom and lock him in and not let him out until we were back in Earth orbit. I'm sure I could find ways to keep him occupied.

Yeah, right, Hoshi. You did fall in love with the armory officer. Oh, well, I've always got to do it the hard way.

But he was worth it. Boy, was he worth it. I just wish he'd get a chance to prove that.

* * *

When I woke up it was to a quiet sickbay. Everybody had been discharged except for Phil Nguyen in the bed next to me. And on the other side...

Oh, he looked good. Pale, and drawn, and in pain even in sleep, but he was alive and that was good enough for me.

When he woke up I was going to give him a piece of my mind for worrying me like that. I managed to stagger out of bed and over to his, dragging a chair on the way. I'd wanted to do it for weeks and this was an opportunity I wasn't going to miss.

There. I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. But that lock of hair cooperated nicely and fell back so I did it again.

I spent a very happy few minutes. It was the way I'd planned to end the eveningâ€”Malcolm in bed with me in close physical contactâ€”but some of the details were a little wrong. Who cared. Immanent death makes you feel very blessed.

Besides, Malcolm would probably have some bed rest prescribed after this. And I would make sure he would have the bed. And as for the taking it easy whilst in bedâ€”well, I could do all the work.

Must be feeling better. Hoshi the Temptress was back. Even though I was tired enough to sleep on the floor, I smiled.

* * *

Dreaming. Malcolm, a bed, and some rather silly birds flying around. Silly. Get back to Malcolm and the bed andâ€”a boat?

I was moving. My head was moving. From side to side.

Odd. The concussion must be back.

Full consciousness returned a little too quickly. Malcolm was awake andâ€”moving? With a stupid grin on his face?

And my hair was falling down and I'm sure I had crease marks from the blanket all over my face. And my headache was back.

Well, this is one romantic reunion. So much for a gentle touch to the brow and a passionate kiss which can say more than words.

My lip started to quiver.

Great going, Hoshi. I always look so beautiful when I cry. I run the full gamut of red, runny nose, puffy eyes and snuffly snorty noises. Really, really attractive.

Ratchet up the romance level again.

Finally I managed to calm down enough to say something. And did I pledge my undying love? My utter thankfulness that he was alive?

No, I abused him. Something along the lines of "You almost died. Again. If you almost die again I'll kill you."

Jeez, Hoshi, don't stop now. Who said romance is dead?

But he didn't seem to mind. He smiled at me inanely, patted my shoulder in a vague way and pushed my head down to his chest.

Nice. This was nice. I could hear his heart beating, a lovely alive ka-thump, ka-thump.

Romance just got resuscitated. I smiled.

He smiled back.

Life was full and rich and very romantic.

Thenâ€”"Kiss my leg better?" he asked. Poor darling, his voice was so raspy. Part of me felt so sorry for him; the other part wanted to jump his bones. After all, they weren't broken. Wonder how far up the leg the scar goes? Because all the scar would need kissing, wouldn't it?

But it was sickbay..."I will," I promised. "Later."

Then Malcolm muttered something about Phlox. Hmm. Maybe he was a bit more out of it than I thought.

"Malcolm? Are you all right? You don't think you've had too many painkillers, do you?"

He was looking at me with that intense look again. The one that made me want to jump him. Actually, now I think about it, everything about him makes me want to-

"She walks in beauty like the nightâ€”"

Oh, boy. He'd definitely had one shot too many. Not that it wasn't nice, though. That was poetry, wasn't it?

"You are beautiful, you know." Now I definitely know he's had too much. Bed-head, no makeup, no wash...

But he was back to poetry again. Loud poetry, I might add. Something about cloudless somethings and starry skies...

And then he lowered his voice to a whisper. " And all that's best of dark and light/Meet in the aspect of her eyes."

Oh.

Oh, Malcolm.

Yes.

Brain gone to mush. Body following. Must take Malcolm and have wicked way with him. Right now. Preferably whilst he recites poetry.

I gave in to temptation and ran a shaking thumb over his lip. Yep, wicked way was about to commence.

If only he'd get on with the poetry.

He got a distinct glint in his eye. I've never seen a glint before. Not at these close quarters. "How about some Donne? Sound man Donne. He knew what to do with a beautiful woman in your bed."

I wish. I pointed out that I was actually sitting on a chair. A rather uncomfortable chair, I should add.

That didn't deflect him. "John Donne. 'To His Mistris Going To Bed.' "

Mistress? Bed? Malcolm, you naughty boy. And how I like naughty boys.

" 'Licence my roaving hands, and let them goâ€”' "

I couldn't catch much else. He started tickling me, trying to get his hands on my chest, playing with my zip, stroking my back.

Good to see some of my plans for the evening were working out.

It felt nice. Very nice. In fact, I wish he'd stop the tickling and get on with a bit more of the stroking...

But Nguyen was lying oblivious two beds overâ€”God, I hoped he was oblivious!â€”and Malcolm was recovering from a very serious injury.

We had to stop.

In a minute.

Definitely.

Soon.

Hoshiâ€”stop it. He'll hurt himself again and then The Temptress will have to wait for another few days.

Well, that thought stopped me dead in my tracks.

But there was always that voice..."More poetry?" I whispered.

I lay my head down beside his on the pillow. Odd, to be so intimate. We hadn't even had a date yet. Not that the Temptress would let herself be worried about such things.

"You must be uncomfortable. How about I get on that chair with you and we have a proper cuddle?"

I laughed. He yawned. Then he whispered so quietly I barely caught it, "Love poems. I know a lot of love poems."

Malcolm...Oh, Malcolm.

"Love, love me do. You know I love you"

Malcolm, yes.

The most beautiful poem in the world. Whatever that poem was. Oh, I love you too-

"Malcolm? Malcolm Reed, don't you dare go to sleep!"

How is it possible to love someone so much and yet want to kill them at the same time?

* * *

See Hoshi float.

See Hoshi float out of sickbay and back down to her cabin.

Float, Hoshi, float.

See Hoshi float to her terminal and start looking for poetry collections.

See Hoshi read that mistress poem. See Hoshi smile.

* * *

Couldn't find that 'Love, love me do. You know I love you' poem though.

Who said life in a tin can hurtling through the vacuum of space couldn't be good?

* * *

Trip came to see how I was. He mentioned that Malcolm seemed to be rather uninhibited last night.

Instant panic. What did he see? What did he HEAR?

Of course, me being me my casual question of "Really?" came out like a mouse squeak.

Trip smirked. "He called you his Hoshi. That's all I heard, I swear. I had to get back to engineering."

His Hoshi.

I'm floating again. I'll even forgive Trip for the smug look on his face. In a day or two.

"So I suppose you've been too busy to do much poetry reading?" Unlike me. Suffer, Trip Tucker! There's no way T'Pol is going to read passionate love poetry to you, my friend.

Stalemate. We both glare at each other, then start laughing.

And only part of me is sad that Trip will never know what he's missing.

* * *

Finally, time to go to sickbay for my checkup. I'd resisted going all afternoon, even though it was so tempting. The four-hour sleep I had didn't help. The dreams were soâ€”colourful. But now I was ready for any quotations Mr Reed could throw at me.

That's it, casually come in. See Malcolm out of the corner of my eye. Odd, he's twitching, I hope he's all right. Goody, Nguyen's gone so we can have a little privacy. There's Phlox,  
okay, act normal.

Of course, Phlox is a darling but he can talk. Still, it relieves me of the pressure and I can concentrate on anticipation. It takes a few seconds for Phlox's words to sink in.

"...change the regime. Fancy it acting on him like that!"

For someone who was ruining my life, Phlox was far too cheery.

All right, Hoshi, you can do this. You're brave, remember. Strong. Besides, Phlox said it lowered inhibitions. And if you don't feel things how can you be inhibited by them?

This was horrible.

Go on, Hoshi, go see him.

Go on.

Move.

Oh, all right. Stop nagging.

I went. I think my impression of Hoshi-to-the-slaughter was spot-on.

* * *

Slaughter was right.

We danced around the subject of last night and then I decided throwing myself on the sword was better than waiting for it to descend.

So I asked him. And I watched his face.

Oh.

So this is what it feels like.

"Hoshiâ€”I can't...I'm so sorry."

Eviscerated. Nothingness.

He was quiet, determined. "No poet has ever written the words to describe how I feel about you."

I think my heart just re-established itself in my body. I tried to say something but couldn't. I'm pretty sure tears were forming.

"I love you, Hoshi. I know that I should say something beautiful, something poetic, butâ€”"

Malcolm, that was the most beautiful, poetic thing I have ever heard in my life. And I need to say something beautiful and poetic back, don't I?

I touched my finger to his lips. "I love you too, Malcolm Reed." I can be pretty poetical myself when I try.

Then I kissed him.

Malcolm's right. The poets just do not have the words.

* * *

Water, check.

Painkillers (the right ones). Check.

Oxford Book of Seventeenth Century English Verse. Check.

Goodnight kiss. Check.

"Malcolm, I have to go."

More goodnight kiss.

"Really...you've just got out of sickbay."

Still kissing.

"Hoshi, my Hoshiâ€”"

More kissy kissy sounds with a sigh thrown in.

"Oh, yes, Malcolm, right there..."

And then I accidentally jolted his leg. Well, ouch.

Okay, I'm going. The walk to his door seemed to take forever. Resting, Hoshi, he's supposed to be resting.

Especially since he was resting in an absolutely adorable pair of pyjamas that Maddie had sent him. And his eyes on that pillowâ€”well, I've always wanted to know what bedroom eyes look like.

Go, Hoshi, while you still can.

Sigh.

* * *

So this is what it feels like to wake up completely happy.

Stuck in a tiny bunk, in a tiny cabin, in a tiny tin can.

Perfect happiness.

And then his arm came around me. I opened my eyes and saw his smiling face. No wonder I couldn't leave last night, not when he smiles like that.

Then he whispered in my ear, " 'And now good morrow to our waking soules.' " Whereupon my own soulâ€”not to mention my bodyâ€”revelled in an excellent good morrow.

Perfect, happy heaven in a tiny tin can.


End file.
